


Untold Secrets

by windchijmes



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M, Non Consensual, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windchijmes/pseuds/windchijmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>(Warnings: OMC/Fili non-consensual sex, some physical violence, Fili angst, some Kili angst too, no incest between our brothers)</b>
</p><p>Fili and Kili are young and reckless. They discover the Den, a filthy, thrilling place for a few gambles. Excellent at their new game, Fili refuses to stop one night, seduced into one last round by a russet-haired stranger. Then, Fili loses unexpectedly, and subsequently, his honour. The lads think it simply means payment in money. Then the stranger comes demanding his prize, and they find out to their horror, that he means to spend a night with Fili.</p><p>When all is done, Kili can only hold Fili as he cries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untold Secrets

It was just a game. A bit of a risk to liven up the dreariness of spending their days in the forge. And the brothers of Durin were _good_ at dices. Especially Fili, who had a sliver-quick mind when it came to the little tricks and turns of calculations and possibilities. And _especially_ Fili, who revelled in the roiling, grimy madness of the Underpass, the clandestine back-alleys and black markets in Ered Luin. They were no longer strangers there, and that itself was revealing of how many times they had stolen past the high walls of their Hall gates, to plunge into the strange and colourful world outside, and the intoxicating, darker labyrinth of the inner belly of the outskirts towns.

The first time, they had been so excited, and never more terrified in their lives.

Now they flitted through the dank, dim hidden paths and alleys with surety, and the slightest flare of recklessness, dodging the rat-like eyes of goods peddlers and the despairing, greasy hands of the flesh traders. By chance, they discovered the Den, a sprawling makeshift structure of animal skins held together by tarnished metal, sheltering a teeming mass of gamblers – men and woman crawling out of the dank woodwork of bleak hopes and crushed lives to take their chances at the tables.

They were seated at such a table, walled in by a circle of roaring, eager spectators. Kili enjoyed this, having eyes watching his every move, waiting for him to make his call, bursts of furious whispers or lamenting groans greeting the conclusion of his call. It was a thrill.

Fili took it further. Like Kili, he liked the fun of it, but more than Kili, he loved the baiting. He would keep his fingers crossed under his chin, a little grin curling at his lips through every call, his expression carefully schooled. Kili could never master the art of the charade; he found it too difficult to stem his emotions and not let them spill out onto his face. But Fili was _good_ at it.

And now, Fili’s eyes were a clear, blank azure as he said, “Five sixes.”

The opponent threw his head back with a laugh. “Starting with such high stakes, young Dwarf?”

“Not against the rules,” Fili’s grin was flat.

“Very true,” the older Dwarf smiled, his gaze obscure. “Six threes.”

Kili’s gaze was already darting between the two, his breath trapped in his chest. He could not see through any bluff, if there was one, and he certainly could not decipher the ringing of the dice well enough to guess the count. _There’s a way the metal rings for every number, like the individual sound a sword makes for every different strike_ , Fili told him before. Kili hadn’t quite gotten it.

The two players held each other’s gazes. Fili’s smile widened. “Seven threes.”

“Call.”

The spectators surged around them as the covers were lifted, and a chorus of mutterings echoed around the tent. _Eight_ threes. Kili couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Clever boy,” the opponent smiled, and leaned forward on his elbows. Under an isolated shard of fading sunlight, his features were more visible. He had the heavy bones of a mature Dwarf, but his features were even and regular under his rich, russet beard. He might even be handsome.

 _And that’s the reason_ , Kili thought to himself with some disdain, that Fili was even entertaining the game for so long. Five years older than him, Fili had already come of age, a just-adult Dwarf, open for courting from suitors. And Fili knew it, of course. There was a certain lilt to his voice now when he spoke to other mature, unmarried Dwarves, whether men or women. He carried himself with a swagger to his gait like he wanted to draw attention. And draw attention he did.

Like _now_. Fili was grinning, genuinely now, after winning the round, dimples deep in his cheeks, and his eyes their usual warm, twinkling blue as they first rested on Kili, _then_ on the opponent across the table. Kili wanted to retch their afternoon meal over the table. He couldn’t understand why Fili just had to put on the coquettish act even in such a situation, especially when the man was looking back, his gaze lingering for just _too long_ on Fili.

“Let’s go, Fili,” Kili seized his brother’s sleeve and tugged it hard. They were going to be home late, and surely Uncle would question their whereabouts.

The fair-haired Dwarf nodded, making to rise from his seat, when a deep, heavy male voice said, “Last round before you leave.”

Kili scowled. The whole evening was beginning to wear on him. They had long outlasted the initial excitement of the game, and now it was grating on his nerves. He looked to Fili, wanting to urge his brother to hurry up.

There was unnatural stiffness in Fili’s bearing, a frisson of tension in his shoulders. Half his head was turned towards the opponent, his eyes gleaming.

“As a remembrance, pretty lad,” the other Dwarf chuckled, drawing a round of bawdy whistling and lewd calls from the spectators.

How perfectly loathsome.

The words were right on his tongue – to demand Fili to hurry up and leave the Den behind with its filth –

“Very well,” Fili said.

Kili stared at his brother in stunned silence. He moved to catch Fili’s sleeve but the fair-haired Dwarf was already brushing him aside, and seating himself back down. “ _Fili_ ,” he hissed under his breath.

“One last round,” Fili muttered, but his eyes were already on his opponent.

The Dwarf rubbed at his russet beard, chuckling in seemingly genuine mirth. “Good lad. Now,” he splayed his hands, spreading them on the table. On one of his fingers, a great stone sparkled in the light. “Shall we raise the stakes?”

Once again, Kili sat himself back down on at the table. The first stirrings of true anger began to churn inside him. He didn’t know what he was livid at. A combination of various elements, perhaps. The Underpass with its increasingly dark lures and addictions. This Dwarf – their opponent – who tempted them further and further into the abyss. And most of all, Kili was furious at his own _brother_. He knew not what Fili was thinking, and why he dallied so recklessly with danger.

The metallic staccato of dices broke Kili’s red-hazed reverie. He chanced a glance at Fili, and his heart sank at the blank, obsessed _want_ in his brother’s eyes.

“How so?” Fili questioned.

 _How so_ indeed. Kili looked down at himself. They might be heirs to the throne, princes in waiting, but gold was rare to them, and other gems and precious metals even more so. They were wealthier than the common Dwarves, but they were not _wealthy_. There was little he and Fili could spare that would afford higher stakes.

The opponent Dwarf took his time to consider that question. It seemed he was taking an unnaturally long time. The crowd grew hushed, and Kili had the uneasy sense of being watched and stalked. Yet Fili displayed no outward discomfort. The fair-haired Dwarf was simply waiting, hands crossed, breathing even.

At length, the russet Dwarf nodded slowly. “We shall wager the most precious item _on our person_.” He raised his hand with the ornate, expensive ring. “Blood ruby. A most treasured heirloom in my line, may I add. What say you, laddie?”

The subtlest hint of a frown now gathered between Fili’s brows. “I do not have anything that matches the value of your jewel.”

“Another ring of your own, perhaps?” The other Dwarf suggested smoothly. “A pendant? Golden hairs from your pretty head?” He chuckled softly, drawing a round of bawdy roars from the watching onlookers.

Kili felt a deep flush creep up his neck. This common, lowly Dwarf dared speak of Fili in such terms. But Fili shot him a warning look, and Kili grudgingly kept his silence.

“None of those would match your ruby, unfortunately,” Fili objected easily, shrugging his shoulders. “I suppose this means we would have to resume this game only – ”

“Your _honour_ , then.”

What – did that mean? Kili looked around quickly, as if the faces of the spectators would provide enlightenment. Their expressions were slathering with hungry anticipation and an almost sick fascination, and they revealed no answers, no aid.

“Honour,” Fili repeated now, glancing at Kili, who did not understand that any better and could only shake his head in response. “That cannot be valued,” Fili challenged.

“And so it is priceless, and would outmatch any jewel in value.”

“Done.”

The ornate dice boxes were shaken and stilled. The silence after the ringing of dices was heavy in the air.

Kili’s eyes dart from dice boxes to Fili. He’d picked out at least three fives by his ear. His brother’s eyes were unblinking above his hands.

“Five fives,” Fili said.

A small flare of relief ignited in Kili’s insides. That should be close.

“Seven fives.”

Even seated where he was, Kili could feel Fili’s anticipation of his victory. The pause that Fili took was long and deliberate. “Call,” the fair-haired Dwarf said.

The covers were lifted.

The smile slipped off Fili’s face. Kili just stared at the dices with the helplessness as one would before an impending unavoidable tragedy

_Six fives._

“I win,” the russet Dwarf laughed in a low voice.

Fili got to his feet and for the first time that evening, his composure cracked. Anxiety ran high in his tone. “We are both just as close. It is a draw.” He ignored the rounds of hissing protests from their audience.

Shaking his head with a patronising air as if he was speaking to a particularly difficult child, the Dwarf simply replied, “The round goes to the Dwarf with the higher bid, do you not know, _laddie_?” There was no endearment in his tone at all.

“Where we come from,” now Kili was also standing. He gestured fiercely to their opponent and glared down the bristling around them. “It is a draw. This is simply a difference in the understanding of the rules. My brother is as much the winner as you are.”

“Where _you_ come from,” the russet Dwarf repeated. Like an ebbing tide, all pretence receded sharply from his features, replaced by an ugly, snake-like sneer. He stood up as well, brows drawing together as he did so. “Is that how you were taught? To renege on a deal?”

The insult to their lineage was not lost on Kili. He would retaliate, but Fili stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I lost,” Fili said. The hand he laid on Kili trembled ever so slightly, the only indication of any apprehension. But his chin was lifted, and his gaze as piercing as the opposing Dwarf. “I would not go back on my word.”

“Good,” the russet Dwarf grinned, his gaze seeming to impale right through Fili. “I come to collect my prize in three days.”

And that was that. The game was lost and the crowds dispersed.

The brothers left home in complete silence, each shrouded in his own thoughts.

++++++++++

The silence dragged on for the next three days.

They were neither angry, nor had they fought about anything, and Kili did not know why they could hardly speak to each other now. Perhaps every time they looked at each other, they were reminded of that evening at the Den.

That day was the third day, and their opponent would come in demand for his _prize_.

That too. Kili did not know what it could possibly mean. If honour could not be valued, yet it was worth more than any jewel, then how could it be claimed? The question in itself also summed up their foolishness, didn’t it? How could they have agreed on a deal without knowing for sure its terms? Maybe that was why Fili had taken to gazing listlessly out of the window, and sometimes just into air, before gritting his teeth and looking down at his hands instead.

They had been stupid and foolish, and every other word that could possibly describe the trouble they had gotten themselves into. 

And now they were not discussing about it and it was driving Kili mad. As he watched Fili sigh for the umpteenth time, Kili decided he had enough and strode over to glare down at his brother.

“Do you know what he means to be collecting?” Kili demanded. When Fili moved as though he wanted to turn away, Kili wound a hand into his vest and shook him, just hard enough to force a grimace onto his face.

“No,” Fili snapped in reply, pulling away. He held Kili’s angered gaze for another moment, before weariness flooded into his face and he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “No, I don’t, but I have some idea. I think he means to demand a prize from our Treasury. You’ve heard him, Kili. He knows where we’re from. He must have heard of the riches of Erebor. He would want something that matches the ruby of his. Perhaps he wants the Arkenstone.”

“But it is lost,” Kili muttered, feeling tired himself. Silent wars with Fili always made him feel drained afterward.

“Mithril then, maybe,” Fili continued, before sighing and shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

Kili glanced at him, startled. “For what?”

The fair-haired Dwarf managed a smile despite his turmoil. “For making you worry like mother.” He visibly swallowed and there were slivers of fear in his expression. He was the Crown Prince in waiting, and he had gambled away something of great value in a ridiculous game for nothing more than a reckless thrill.

They had not told Uncle in a wordless agreement that they would bear this upon their own shoulders as far as they could. Well, they no longer could.

Kili seized his brother’s wrist and dragged him to his feet. “Come on,” he declared brusquely, beginning to move, towing him along.

Fili said not a word. He neither protested nor argued, but simply allowed himself to be hauled behind Kili. He seemed defeated by the situation and Kili did not like seeing that in his brother. That was not Fili, who laughed in the face of danger, and trained himself to the point of exhaustion so that he could fight with every weapon the Dwarves created.

They passed the servants, who informed them that Thorin was in the guest chamber, speaking to someone, and that he would send them for them when the time was more appropriate.

Kili thought that very moment was the most appropriate, and barged in anyway, with one hand still clasped around Fili’s wrist.

Thorin looked up from where he was seated. So did the other Dwarf across the table.

Kili stared, and behind him, Fili made a strangled sound in his throat.

_The russet Dwarf from the Den.  
_

“Kili,” Thorin said evenly, his expression undecipherable beneath his heavy brows. “And Fili,” he finished slowly, voice deepening. There was tension in his bearing, and a strange uneasiness.

Kili greeted him quickly, and Fili followed suit, albeit with a measure of hesitation before he spoke. As they moved to sit down at the table, Kili could not help noticing the way the russet Dwarf studied Fili like he was appraising a cut of meat. It made Kili’s skin crawl.

“Mister Durvar,” Thorin continued, his tone dangerously quiet. “Informed me of the proceedings three days ago. How Fili here,” his gaze was blazing now as it riveted upon Fili. “Lost a game and subsequently, his honour to him. Is that true, Fili?”

Fili said _yes_ , and his face was as composed as he looked that day at the Den, but his hands were tightly clasped in his lap.

“And I have come to claim it, _Fili_ ,” Durvar explained, testing the young Dwarf’s name like a fine ale.

“What do you want, then?” now Kili cut in, getting impatient with the deliberate conversations. “Is it something from the Treasury? Another ruby?”

“ _Be silent, Kili_ ,” Thorin hissed, the ferocity in his tone startling both the lads.

“Another ruby?” Durvar laughed then, and there was a nasal quality to his timbre that was immensely distasteful. “Oh you jest, boy. I have come to claim your _brother_. In bed,” he added as an afterthought, casually.

Kili wasn’t sure he heard right at first. All his thoughts were bent on figuring out exactly how many jewels this dastardly Dwarf was planning to demand from them, that he simply could not make the leap to the _actuality_ of the Dwarf’s request at first. When he did however, fury rose thick and boiling in his chest.

Yet, before Kili could squeeze out a single word, Fili beat him to it.

“Uncle,” Fili said softly, urgently. “I don’t understand. When I played that round, nothing like this was mentioned.” His knuckles were white where they gripped the desk.

“Then perhaps, you should have thought better,” Thorin snarled in reply, anger and disappointment warring in his face. “Have I not warned you and Kili not to venture outside the city? Yet you insist on doing so, and you think yourself so very clever. For an unmarried, unclaimed Dwarf, what could be more honourable than the sanctity of the flesh? Yet you have gambled it away as if it were no more than a cheap coin.”

All the colour drained out of Fili’s face. “I did not know,” his words could hardly be heard over his whisper. “ _I did not know_.”

 _They_ did not know. And they should have made sure they knew. Kili wanted to kick himself and his brother, and he wanted to hug his brother and comfort him, yet all they could do was sit there like puppets and stare helplessly at the situation.

“Uncle,” Kili’s voice sounded strained and hoarse, and he didn’t recognise it himself. “Fili. Fili _mustn’t_ – ” he could not continue, silenced by the wretchedness in Fili’s eyes and the sneering triumph in Durvar’s.

“There is nothing I can do. It is our custom, even if it works against you. You will not bring further disgrace to our name by reneging on a deal to which you have given your word. You are Crown Prince in waiting. Now act _like_ one.” Thorin’s reply was cold as the stone upon which he sat. But as his gaze lingered on Fili, his features seemed to soften ever slightly. “Prepare yourself, Fili. The servants would see to you. It would be over by dawn.”

Fili stood up then, fists trembling by his side. His face was white, and his eyes wild though they seemed to see no one in the chamber. “Very well, Uncle. I would prepare myself as you ordered. And I am sorry I have let you down.” As he turned to leave, Thorin caught his arm but Fili simply pulled loose and strode away.

He didn’t even know he was already running after Fili but he caught up with him at the end of the corridor. He clutched at Fili’s shoulders. “You…” he struggled to find the right thing to say – _anything_ – and he realised with mounting despair that nothing would make this right or better. “You do not have to do this, Fili. There…there must be something else we can…” he faltered then, and his words were hollow in the air.

Fili went completely rigid for a moment, before he reached out and grasped Kili’s face. “Let this be our secret, Kili,” he smiled as merrily as he could, so much so that even his gaze grew alarmingly bright as he brushed a lock of Kili’s hair away from his eyes. “Better me than you.”

Then, Fili turned and ran.

This time, Kili did not follow.

++++++++++

 _Preparation_ , as it turned out, was a thorough process of cleaning and dressing. Fili did not look at any of the servants as they prepared him. His mind seemed detached from his impending fate, and in this way, he almost found mirth in the situation. He had gambled his body away without his own knowledge. He was going to be deflowered like a tavern whore, and he was being so tediously _prepared_ for it. What was the use in it? Would it be any less humiliating if he was _clean_ for his defiler? Was he supposed to be made more palatable for his own defiling?

Questions.

It really would have been funny if he could laugh about it. Perhaps he should be paid for his services – it would make an apt ending to his tragedy.

He was seated upon the bed now in the guest chamber. He had nothing on except a nightgown, a strange creation of white robes. His hair had been washed and brushed and left free over his shoulders. Would it be strange to admit that he felt even more naked without his braids, than being clad in this ludicrous gown?

The heavy footfalls outside the door made him jump.

Cursing himself, Fili held still upon the bed and dug his nails into his thighs. He would not let Durvar see his fear. He had been very foolish and now he would pay for it with his body. That was all. Just a matter of the flesh. Fili had lived through serious injuries during his training. Pain of the flesh was nothing that he could not tolerate.

Then the door burst open and Fili’s mind went blank as he watched the older Dwarf’s entrance. It was slow and terribly deliberate. Durvar took his time and paced himself in a way that would bring the most discomfort to Fili. He waited a beat too long before closing the door, and when he did so, he did it entirely too loudly as if to show Fili that they were now alone in the same room. His face was expressionless as he circled Fili, casually pulling off his gloves, letting his eyes rake over the young Dwarf. His coat was laid upon the armchair. He took especially long with his breeches, unlacing them and loosening them.

As he came nearer, Fili’s nails were clawing welts into his own skin, and he saw now that what apparent attractive countenance that had seduced Fili into those games that evening looked like a mask now, covering but not hiding that ugly hatred beneath.

“Stand up,” he said lightly, gesturing to Fili with one hand.

Reminding himself to be calm, Fili did as he was told, but he almost lost the battle next when rough fingers grabbed his chin. The grip was ungentle, and Fili could only grit his teeth as his face was turned this way and that for Durvar’s appraisal.

“You’re prettier up close,” Durvar said conversationally, sounding almost sincere.

“Dwarves are not pretty,” Fili replied flatly.

“Oh I know,” Durvar laughed, and the first pinpricks of malice crept into his gaze. “But _whores_ are.”

Fili bit his lip, but he could not stop the flush heating up his face. The burn of the insult scorched him from inside out.

“It’s just a little teasing, laddie,” Durvar clucked soothingly, raising both hands to the top of Fili’s nightgown. “You really are lovely.”

The flattery rang false and shrill in Fili’s ears. He was beginning to realise that it served as a prelude to a more biting insult later on. Durvar’s hands were unlacing his robes, pulling them open at the neck, working downwards, and it was more than Fili could bear. Jerking away, he clutched at his own robes.

“I can undo them myself,” Fili said tersely. “I am no – ”

A resounding crack through the air, and with a cry, Fili pitched backwards onto the bed. Blood flooded his mouth and he realised belatedly his lip had split. His vision blacked out for a moment, his eyes fluttering unseeingly, Durvar’s face drifting in and out of focus as the Dwarf crushed him into the sheets. One large hand gripped Fili’s face, fingers digging painfully into the bruise already blooming on his cheek. Then, it drew back and cracked across his face again, whipping Fili’s head to one side.

“You are no child, how right you are,” he hissed against Fili’s lips, licking a wet slide across the bloodied swells and wrenching a groan from the young Dwarf. It only seemed to spur him on. Durvar laughed now. “You’re the prettiest when you have a little blood on you, little _Durin_ slut.” He made short work of Fili’s robes, tearing them off so hard Fili’s body jerked with the force.

The ceiling swam into Fili’s eyes and he fixed his gaze on it, suddenly wishing he had not woken up from the impact of Durvar’s blows. He was unclothed now and Durvar’s gaze slithered over his nakedness. Yet he would not allow the older Dwarf any satisfaction of watching him squirm. Fili lay like a deadweight and he let himself be turned over roughly onto his front, and his hips pulled up and back. His head throbbed from the beating, and the air was chilly against his bared skin.

“Look here,” Durvar held up a vial of oil for his eyes. “How very considerate of _your_ people. Be good, and you will find me kind and merciful.”

Fili wanted to close his eyes, but a hand wound into his hair and yanked his head back. A shard of panic surged like bile up his throat, and he thought of pleading. No, _no_. _His first lay should not be like this._ But the fingers cruelly spreading him wide were real. So he kept his eyes open, the air wheezing from his throat as he was penetrated by blunt, barely-slicked flesh. It dredged through him like a blade scoring his insides. Sweat broke over him in cold prickles, white-hot pain knifing across his senses. His hands scrabbled over the sheets. He couldn’t breathe. His chest was tight – _he couldn’t breathe_.

“Come now,” Durvar purred as he reached down to grasp Fili’s soft member.

It was like a river had burst and Fili uttered the first words since his violation began. “Please…” his words were strangled in his chest, and he shrank away from Durvar’s vile touch. “Don’t make me – ” his breath caught. He was not actually going to _beg_.

“Enjoy it?” Durvar guessed correctly, vicious triumph in his laugh. His hand began to move, and Fili felt himself grow hard in that rough, skilled grasp.

 _No_. Fili bit down on his lip, tearing the wound even wider. His legs were shaking, threatening to buckle. And he found he welcomed the pain, for it almost drowned the violent pleasure that ravaged him, when he finally spilled into Durvar’s hand. He was lost.

“Good boy, there you go,” Durvar petted his golden hair, as he would to a dog.

Large, sweaty thighs shoved against his own; the voice in his ear grunted _sweet little virgin_ with each brutal thrust. The words hurt more, cutting through the flesh-pain to reach the deepest recess of his heart. Yet his eyes were strangely dry, unblinking as he gazed upon those little cracks in his wall that he’d never noticed before, and his body shed tears for him, seeping red between his thighs, lessening the pain to a dull, leadened ache.

“Shall I tell you a secret, my dear?” Durvar was groaning now, nearing his release. He yanked Fili’s head back even harder. His lips were right at Fili’s ear. “You see this?” He held up his hand with the ruby sparkling upon it. “It was bestowed by _your grandfather himself_. For he was _so sorry_ my clan was slaughtered in his wars. Now see what it buys me. A night with – his _precious_ – _grandson_.” He punctuated each word with heavy bucks of his hips.

Fili felt himself jostled several more times, then the flesh in him pulled out, and hot spatters coated Fili’s back and buttocks. He might have collapsed then, he did not know. He hardly felt it as he was turned over on his back. Now it was the ceiling in his eyes again, not the wall with its cracks. Durvar did not dally, nor did he give him a second look. He dressed and remarked lightly about the dreadful mess on the bed.

Before he left, he laughed, “To remember me by.”

There was a soft thud on Fili’s chest. How long he stared up at the ceiling, he did not know. Now he sat up slowly, his limbs limp like they’ve been wrenched from their sockets. His shaking hand picked up the ruby ring that had been flung onto him. So this was all he was worth.

His shoulders began convulsing first, then his whole body. Finally, he threw his head back and laughed and laughed and did not stop until he was screaming.

++++++++++

He waited till dawn.

It was unnervingly quiet when all the servants had been sent away from the guest wing. Only a single guard stood outside the chamber. He would not look at Kili and seemed only able to breathe after Kili dismissed him from duty.

Kili was, in all honesty, _afraid_ when he pushed open the doors. He knew not what he would see, and he feared the worst. And so he was dumbfounded when he stepped in and everything seemed – _normal_.

Not a chair was out of place. Even the bed, and Kili had to force himself to look, was pristine, the covers drawn up and in perfect condition.

At the far end, Fili saw at the dressing table, his back to Kili. He wore the same clothes Kili had seen him in earlier, and he seemed preoccupied, combing his hair with long, slow strokes, the same way he did every morning at dawn.

“Fili?” Kili ventured cautiously, making sure his footfalls were loud and he would not startle his brother. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Fili replied, his voice clear and devoid of any…untoward emotion. Still, he combed his hair, repeating each stroke with painstaking thoroughness. When Kili took several more steps, he continued, “Leave the room.”

By then, Kili could smell the fragrance of the herbs they used in their baths. It was as though Fili was drowning in the scent; it was so strong. Yet despite the deliberate fragrance, you could never really mask the stench of rutting. It was the kind of odour that Kili had smelled in taverns – of sex, fluids and filth of flesh. It clung to the air like a layer of grease.

“Fili,” he said, insides clenching.

“I enjoyed it.”

And yet, his brother needed to set the whole room in order, and scrub himself like a mad man afterwards? Kili could see the raw pink of Fili’s skin where it showed.

“Just go. _Go_ ,” Fili spat out and slammed the comb on the table.  “I don’t want you here. _It’s dirty_.” His voice broke on the last word.

Without thinking, Kili was striding up and seizing his brother’s shoulders, turning Fili around. They felt so fragile beneath his hands and Fili spun easily, putting up no resistance. He raised his face, almost in surprise, and Kili felt his stomach heave.

The entire side of Fili’s face was bruised, flaring a tight, angry red. His bottom lip was split, as though cracked open by something hard, then _torn_ , the flesh swollen and crusted with dried blood.

“Oh, _Fili_ ,” he choked on his very breath, all the air lodged in his chest.

“It’s nothing,” Fili said, eyes darting now to everywhere but Kili’s face, each word dragging on his tender lip. He seemed anxious. “I’ve had worse.”

Yes, they’ve had worse, yet those were nothing compared to _this_. The injuries sustained during training and combat and even scrapes with other Dwarves were fight wounds, and the Durin brothers had always given a lot more than they took. Fili’s face looked like he had simply lain there to be beaten.

Anger rose sharp and bitter in Kili. He was furious at so many things – that bastard Durvar for reducing his brother to this, their Uncle for not intervening, and _himself_ most of all for not being able to stop it. And Fili now, looking so battered and defeated, angered him too. He reached down, fisted Fili’s vest and hauled him to his feet.

“Speak to me,” he cried, shaking his brother until Fili gasped and lurched unsteadily, and Kili realised suddenly it was from _pain_. Then Kili was drawing him close, knowing now Fili must be in agony everywhere Kili couldn’t see, and how could he be so stupid not to know? “I’m sorry,” he said into Fili’s hair. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ , he kept saying over and over again.

“Go, Kili,” Fili’s voice was a bare whisper. “I don’t want you to _see me like this_.”

Kili swallowed, a hot wetness welling behind his eyes. “You’ll have to throw me out because I’m staying.”

Fili fought him then, weak, pained struggling to unhand himself, but Kili just tightened his grasp, hushing the wheezes of pain from his brother, and laid his cheek upon Fili’s hair. The thrashing eased, whether out of surrender, or bone-weariness. Then, Fili was hugging him back, fiercely and desperately, arms winding around Kili’s neck, taking pitiful, tearing breaths that sounded like sobs. There was nothing Kili could do but to hold his brother like that until Fili simply sagged against him and wept bitterly for the loss of all things innocent and pure.

Time must have passed without his knowing. It had been dawn just a heartbeat ago, and now the sun hung low in the sky, turning the clouds into a sea of turbulent red. Kili stared up at the ceiling, his arms still loosely wrapped around the body curled into him. Fili had exhausted himself eventually and drifted into a restless, fitful sleep.

He lifted his hand and dangled the ring from his fingers; he had retrieved it from his brother’s clenched fist. The ruby, stained now with his brother’s blood.

He watched it for a long moment, then he kept it and made it secret.

++++++++++

The matter was hushed and never spoken of again in Court. And over time, it became yet another passing scandal, a rumour in the wind, hearsay for the common folk, and it was forgotten in the wake of newer, more exciting news. The people’s beloved King-in-exile would soon embark upon a quest to reclaim their homeland. Their Princes, young and brave and beautiful, would follow him on this noble journey.

Durin’s folk know not that their golden Prince looks upon them with a mask-like smile and dead eyes, and spends his nights trapped in screaming, bloodied dreams. Nor do they know that his dark-haired brother soothes him through every nightmare, cries for the both of them, and waits like a man possessed in the day for something.

_Something._

The news arrives two years after Fili lost his soul.

Hands trembling, Kili reads the parchment with the single line: _We found him_.

He takes out the ruby ring he had carried with him for two years and holds it up. It is as red as ever, the colour of blood, its crimson facets festered with thoughts of vengeance. He has learned the hard lesson that there are shades of grey to every bad, and every good in this world. Princes may be corrupted and winners brought low even after their victories. 

“Payment,” he says and hands it to the silent, hooded figure.

There are things a Prince must do, and those he must but cannot do by his own hands. So, he pays a price for a bounty placed upon his enemy, and lets the hounds begin their chase.

Weeks later, the notices are all around the little hamlets, and Fili stands now before one of them. He has grown hollow with each passing day, but for the first time in two years, he smiles and his eyes flicker with life and emotion.

Kili steps up behind him, and grips his hand. His heart soars with gladness when Fili finds the strength to squeeze him back. In silence, they turn away from the notice with its gruesome details of a russet Dwarf slain by unknown assailants, and step on the path that would bring them home.

Their hands are still entwined, each brother bearing his own untold secret, never to be forgotten. But between one breath and the next, there is knowledge of a burden shared and eased. And in it, they find peace.

 

_finis_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write Fili angst. Just hadn't expected to also mix in violence against the poor boy.


End file.
